The Stranger and the Sword
by W3R3W0LF666
Summary: Angel has a lot on his hands when a mysterious stranger is wandering the streets of LA chopping people’s heads off. Can he, Wes and Cordi find and question him before Wolfram & Hart? A Highlander Angel Crossover. Takes place in Season 1.
1. Arrival

**Title:** The Stranger and the Sword

**Feedback:** Please leave reviews, even if it's to say what I can do better – all critique is very much appreciated :)

**Distribution:** Please ask me first, give me full credit and please don't alter my work.

**Author:** Wolfi3 (Liane Stevenson)

**Summary:** Angel has a lot on his hands when a mysterious stranger is wandering the streets of LA chopping people's heads off. Can he, Wes and Cordi find and question him before Wolfram & Hart? Takes place in Season 1 after "Parting Gifts". My first fan fiction, please R&R. :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from either of the shows and I don't pretend to.

**A/N:** _Italic_ is thoughts and **bold** lettering is shouting

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**1. Arrival**

L.A's night sky was alive with the twinkling of lights, skyscraper, traffic and street combined making a light bluish haze. Its familiar nocturnal hustle and bustle could be heard from the outskirts of town, even if it was just a faint murmur. This was over-ridden though, by the occasional passing vehicle, a truck, a bike, a car.

A black T-Bird convertible rolled past the 'Welcome to Los Angeles' sign with it's top down, the wind blowing in its occupant's long, dark hair. A pair of square, frameless sunglasses hid his eyes and covered his identity. His facial features gave no hint to who he was either; they had remained stony all the way from the start of his journey in Paris.

The T-Bird slowed as it approached the night streets and finally came to a halt outside an old abandoned gym. The tall figure stepped out of the car, his long black trench coat flowing behind him. He reached into the back seat where his hand met a light-coloured backpack with a long, suspicious, shrouded object attached to the top of it.

He turned and entered the building, his heavy step gently padding over to the dusty rotten stairs and then up them, making them creak and moan as the old wood bent and shifted under his heavy boots. On reaching the top of the stairs he removed his glasses and flicked his head to the right, forcing his long, bound hair to make the same flicking motion.

His strong, tree-like arms pushed open the door to the next room. He walked in and threw his bag down onto a faded and battered old chair. Reaching for the long shrouded object, he unwrapped to cream cloth to reveal a blade, an authentic Japanese samurai blade.

Angel surveyed it with his piercing brown eyes; his gaze never breaking with it's for a second. Standing, ready to pounce or to run at the slightest sign of movement in his opponent. Its black beady eyes watched him in turn, its leg starting to move slightly. Angel swung his weapon high in air before slamming it on top of the creature, again, and again, and again.

"Angel." He looked up to see Cordelia's head peeping around the door to his Los Angeles office.

"The regular, non-demon type spider, is dead. You can stop having your manly-mouse fit or whatever now and put the Dentists newspaper down." She continued whilst walking into the room. Angel looked at the rolled up paper in his hand and then to her as she smirked at him.

"What? Oh this, well it was…evil. It's an…evil…spider" He said unconvincingly to her, running his fingers through the back of his short hair as he often did when he was nervous or embarrassed.

"Hmmmm….mmmmmm." Cordelia rolled her eyes, she didn't believe him for an instant, but thought it best not to damage his pride which he was trying so desperately to hold on to.

Angel smiled at her, trying to avoid her smirking gaze.


	2. Deadly Shadows

Sorry about the time it took for me to update this one, but hopefully it will be worth it ;)

Many thanks for the kind reviews on the first chapter and I hope you enjoy this one just as much!

**2. Deadly Shadows**

'Good Evening all' chirped a young English voice from the office doorway. Cordelia instantly recognised the voice of the former watcher Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and rolled her eyes at the thought of having him hanging around the office still, like a dog looking for a bone. 'Oh, it's you, why can't you be client?' she turned to face him with a look of part disgust and part disappointment. 'Charmed I'm sure. Would it help if I went out and came back in?' He pushed his thin rimmed glasses up his nose and stared Cordelia down. She turned away from him and carried on with tidying the office. 'How about if you walked away and_ didn't_ come back in?' she replied still moving papers from one side of Angel's desk to another. Wesley hung his head stared to make his way to the door.

'Children' came a deep voice from the next office. Angel was leaning on the doorframe his hands folded. 'We need Wesley's help now that-' he couldn't complete his sentence. It was still too painful for him to say Doyle's name, some part of Angel still held him responsible for his friend's death. 'What's wrong Wes? Something happened?' Angel asked when he found his tongue again. 'Erm, no I came here to ask you the same question actually.'

'But that's good, right?' said Cordelia looking at Angel and then to Wesley. 'No evil lurking around and us with this office, apartment and my salary to pay for.' Her face dropped and Wesley and Angel shot confused looks at each other.

In the smoky backstreets of L.A., a small man dressed in old brown rags pushed a trolley up the ally way, collecting bags of rubbish to be turned into food later that night. Occasionally he'd branch out into a rat when he was strong enough, but not tonight. He was coming down from his drug high and feeling lazy. He wouldn't even be foraging if his stomach wasn't constantly complaining. Then his luck changed, among cardboard boxes and dumpsters of an Italian restaurant he spied half a packet of dry pasta twists. He bent down to pick them up, ensuring he picked up the pastas that tried to get away by falling out of the ripped packaging.

As he was gathering, he heard a chinking noise like steel colliding with steel. He stopped and looked up at the tall wall of the restaurant, just past the ally's dark shadows to where the moonlight hit the building. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief of what he was seeing. Two male shadows projected onto the wall and were moving back and forth in the moonlight. They both seemed to long, pointed objects protruding from their hands and they were fighting with them. The homeless man turned around dropping his precious spoils on the floor. He directed his eyes to top of the building across the ally and there were two male silhouettes fighting with swords. One man wore long dark trench coat and a long mane of pony-tailed hair. The other had rather short hair growing only to his cheeks. Gathering as much fallen pasta as he could the ragged man tried to run but part of him wouldn't let him move. With a final stroke of his sword, the pony-tailed stranger chopped the other mans head off.

The homeless man covered his mouth for fear of screaming, his heart beating at a million a minute. The man left on the roof fell to his knees, exhausted. There was a rumble coming from the sky and suddenly a bolt of lightening from what seemed no where struck the man. The homeless man ducked as another bolt headed straight for the dumpsters he was sitting by. Sparks flew over him showering him; cars in the street nearby had their alarms blaring and windows blown out. The man on the roof was still being hit, again and again. He was wailing in pain and looked like he was in agony. Finally the lighting and noise became more and more subdued until it stopped completely.

The homeless man came out from where he was cowering clutching a bag of empty pasta. He looked to see if anyone else had witnessed that unbelievable display. He saw a man standing a little further down the ally holding a video camera. The homeless man ran over to him. "Did you see that, man? It was like, whoa."

The stranger turned to him and smiled, holding the camera at his side. "Follow me", he beckoned. "Where to? And who are you man?"

He put his camera away into a bag n his shoulder and turned to face him. "Me? I'm a watcher." He pulled up the sleeve of coat to reveal a strange tattoo on his wrist. "I record events like this, but I'm not one of them. Come with me and I'll tell you more." He put his arm around the ragged man. "I'll even buy you dinner." The homeless man accepted and after taking one last look on the roof of the fray to find the fighter gone; they both disappeared into the hustle and bustle of L.A nightlife.


End file.
